


creature of habit

by kagome_angel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, But Kitten Also Likes Having Said Control Taken Away, Drowning in Sap Send Help, Foreplay, He Tries to Be Good Really, Kenma Likes it a Little Rough, Kitten Likes Control, Kuroo Can't Help Himself, Kuroo Thinks Kenma is Beautiful and it Gives Me All the Feels, M/M, Mild Power Play, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Parents Aren't Home, Porn with Feelings, Saps During Sex, Sex Before Breakfast, Some Habits are More Easily Broken, This Came Out of Nowhere I Swear, Utter Saps, scheming Kuroo, these boys will be the death of me, they make a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagome_angel/pseuds/kagome_angel
Summary: Kozume Kenma is a creature of habit.  He likes to shower first thing in the morning.  Kuroo Tetsurou knows this well (knows a lot of things about Kenma, quite well), but probably wouldn’t know it quite so well had they not made such a habit of spending their nights and mornings together like this, whenever and wherever possible.(Kuroo has this idea that he's going to be good and make them breakfast; it's too early to indulge in the scenarios playing in his mind, but he's done for and he knows it the moment he sees Kenma standing in his doorway, wearing Kuroo's shirt and possibly - definitely - absolutely nothing else.)





	creature of habit

**Author's Note:**

> Mild underage warning here. Kuroo is 18 and Kenma is 17. This is another one of those scenarios that would NOT leave me alone until I wrote it. I'm telling you, guys, this one and my previous Kagehina fic that I posted last week took over the other Haikyuu fic I have been working on (read: Sappy porn is more important than innocent Kagehina cuteness, sap, and angst).

Kozume Kenma is a creature of habit. He likes to shower first thing in the morning. Kuroo Tetsurou knows this well (knows a lot of things about Kenma, quite well), but probably wouldn’t know it _quite_ so well had they not made such a habit of spending their nights and mornings together like this, whenever and wherever possible.

Saturday morning is presently the ‘when’ and Kuroo’s house is the ‘where’. They’re alone, and have been since yesterday evening, and it’s been a glorious handful of hours—at least, in Kuroo’s opinion. They’ve got a few more hours until his folks will be back, and he intends to use them wisely (of course he does, because he’s brilliant like that), which may mean more sex or breakfast in bed or a movie or quiet cuddles or an impromptu backyard volleyball session. It could mean all of these things; hell, he’s feeling ambitious this morning.

He shoves the covers off of his naked body and stretches experimentally, muscles shifting and bones popping in protest. He’s a little sore, but it’s not like it isn’t anything he can’t handle. He wonders idly if Kenma’s sore, too, imagines that he must be, after last night. Neither of them had been particularly gentle, and both of them had loved every moment of it.

There are scratches on his back. He can feel them when he stretches; the fabric of the bedsheets irritates them a little, but again, it’s not something he can’t handle. He thinks of how and why Kenma had made them and he smiles.

He’s about ready to attempt to get up and go to the bathroom to check on Kenma’s progress when, as if on cue, Kenma appears in the doorway, hair still damp, eyes glued to his handheld game console. He’s wearing one of Kuroo’s shirts and what appears to be absolutely nothing else (Kuroo decides he’ll have to investigate this further), and it’s entirely too big for him but it looks fantastic on him. So what if Kuroo’s probably biased? The truth is still the truth.

Kenma stands there, just as normal and just as extraordinary as you please, beautiful and completely oblivious to it. Just looking at him, seeing him like this, affects Kuroo, sends a wave of heat through him, begins to nudge the desire within him (which he always, always, feels for Kenma, and it never shuts off, only ever ebbs) from quiescent to almost-frenzied, all in the span of a heartbeat. He _wants_ and he _needs_ and he’s pretty damn sure he ought not be indulging said wants and needs this early in the morning. He should at least make them breakfast first. He knows Kenma will be hungry.

He’s still working on talking himself off that particular ledge (he and logic don’t often see eye to eye) when Kenma says: “I can feel your eyes on me, you know,” all matter-of-fact and low, soft. There’s a small curve of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, and that alone makes Kuroo feel a thousand things at once. Well, what do you know? So much for breakfast and logic. He’s already decided on feeding another type of hunger altogether, provided Kenma’s on board with the not-quite-plan.

(He’s pretty sure Kenma won’t protest.)

“Can you?” Kuroo queries and he stretches again, for Kenma’s benefit this time, and those golden eyes leave the screen in favor of lingering on Kuroo’s body instead. Kuroo inwardly smirks and asks another question: “Can you really blame me? You look _really_ good in my shirt.”

Kenma’s eyes don’t meet his. “Do not,” he lightly protests, probably more out of reflex than anything else. Kenma is a creature of habit, and he’s never been one to easily accept compliments, not even from Kuroo. Also, he likes to argue, enjoys being proven wrong perhaps almost as much as he enjoys being proven right.

(And Kuroo always, _always_ proves him wrong in this particular department, showing him with hands and mouth, with touch and motion, just how beautiful Kenma always has been and always will be to him.)

“Do too,” Kuroo returns without hesitation.

“Do not.” He’s set his console aside, on Kuroo’s bookcase, but he remains standing in the doorway. His gaze is locked on Kuroo’s now.

“Do too.” The banter, the playful arguing, it’s just as much part of them, of who they are together, as everything else. It’s silly and it’s wonderful and Kuroo wouldn’t know how to begin to let it go, doesn’t intend on _ever_ doing so. 

(They’ve gotta keep each other on their toes, after all.)

“… Do not.” Kenma runs his fingers through his hair. Kuroo imagines those fingers elsewhere, rubbing at his scalp, down his chest, even scratching down his back, as they had last night. He licks at his lips and Kenma’s eyes widen just the slightest hint of a fraction.

“Do too. Why don’t you come here and let me show you how gorgeous you are to me?” It’s a command wrapped up in an invitation, molten heat somehow swathed neatly in silk ribbon. He doesn’t expect that Kenma will reject the proposition, the promise that Kuroo fully intends to make good on.

Kenma blushes (which is nothing short of simultaneously fucking adorable and incredibly sexy all at once) and he lingers where he is for just a moment more before crossing the space between them, coming to stand beside the bed, beside Kuroo. 

“You always do, you know,” he murmurs, eyes just a little glassy for an instant. A few quick blinks and it’s gone, but the look of pure tenderness on his face makes Kuroo’s heart tighten in his chest. “Show me, I mean.”

If his own eyes are currently bleeding affection and adoration, it’s not exactly something that can be helped or altered—not that Kuroo would want to. Kenma _needs_ to see just as much as he needs to feel, and Kuroo can’t – won’t – ever bring himself to deny him anything. 

Kuroo has to touch him, and so he does, hand reaching out to grasp Kenma’s wrist. He tugs gently and Kenma follows without pause, moving to join him on the bed. Kenma straddles him, his thighs bracketing his waist, and Kuroo discovers then that Kenma is indeed delightfully naked beneath Kuroo’s shirt. He’ll come back to that in a moment.

Right now, he moves his hand to cradle Kenma’s cheek, and Kenma leans into it, eyes closing. Kuroo fondly traces the facial features that he’s grown to love more than he’d ever imagined he would, from his forehead to each brow to the bridge of his nose. “I’m not ever going to stop showing you, Kenma,” he vows, and who the fuck cares if he sounds lovesick and overly-dramatic because again, it’s the fucking _truth_.

Kenma smiles at him, a real, full smile, all sweet and shy. Kuroo touches that smile with his fingers, too, feels it against his skin, bright and true and achingly wonderful. He’s never been as wrapped up in anything as he is this boy who’s always been right here with him, all along.

Soft lips part and Kenma sucks Kuroo’s fingers into his mouth, which leads to Kuroo releasing a soft little moan and closing his eyes for a second, for multiple reasons. For one, he can’t help it, and for another… the visual is almost too much; still is, when he opens his eyes again and finds Kenma watching him, lashes at half-mast, still-wet hair falling down to frame his face—Kuroo’s breath catches painfully in his chest and he almost has to close his eyes again. 

He doesn’t, though.

The way Kenma’s tongue works against his fingers isn’t shy in the slightest; he’s still sweet, though an entirely different kind—something honeyed and dripping. It suits Kenma perfectly.

“If you keep this up, you’re going to need another shower,” Kuroo warns, the words a low growl, and they have an effect on Kenma, too; Kuroo can feel him shiver, can feel the muscles in his thighs tense and tremble against him.

Kenma pulls back and snorts softly, rolling his eyes. “As if that wasn’t your intention when you told me to come over here, anyway?” he asks, and he’s always been entirely too clever for his own good (or maybe Kuroo’s just always been that transparent). 

Kuroo sighs, purposefully over-dramatic. “You make me sound like such a pervert.”

Kenma’s soft peal of laughter makes him feel warm everywhere. “As if you _aren’t_?” 

“I’m not,” Kuroo insists, feigning offense. His argument sounds pretty weak considering their current state of being. He realizes this, and doesn’t really care. It’s always in good fun, anyway.

“Are too.” Kenma grins, nothing short of mischievous (well hell, haven’t the roles been reversed suddenly?). Eyes still locked on Kuroo’s, he reaches back with one hand, fingers almost idly trailing along one of Kuroo’s inner thighs before curling around his erection and giving one slow, firm tug. “But I’m not complaining. I’m the only one that sees _this_ side of you. You hide it pretty well otherwise I guess. I mean, I’m pretty sure if my parents had any inkling of some of the things that go on when we’re alone together, they’d have heart attacks, resurrect, label you a bad influence, and that would be it.”

(Kenma doesn’t sound solemn at all, humor coloring his words, his ‘argument’.)

Kuroo presses a hand to his heart, and it’s time for more dramatics. He gasps, “Your parents _love_ me!” and it earns him a little snicker.

“… They do,” Kenma eventually concedes, and it’s the truth. Kenma’s parents _do_ love Kuroo, if only for the fact that he’s always been able to pull him out of his own head when no-one else ever has. 

Kenma’s leaning down and in now, hair tickling Kuroo’s face, eyes dark and searching, wanting—wanting just as much as Kuroo, himself (he’s never had to question that, ever, and Kuroo’s always made sure that that goes both ways).

“Me before breakfast, hm?” Kuroo asks with a smile. “You must think quite a lot of me, to put me higher on the totem pole than waffles.”

(Because Kenma is a creature of habit and it’s always breakfast after his morning shower.

_Almost_ always.)

Another roll of those eyes. “You _know_ I do. I can show you.”

“You always do.” Serious, now. Mirrored words, equality and palpable emotion. And then, “Show me now.”

Closer and closer still until their lips are touching. Slow and sweet initially, but then Kenma’s questing tongue licks into his mouth and Kuroo meets him halfway, letting Kenma take what he needs, willingly giving it. His hands move to settle on Kenma’s hips, feeling the bones shift beneath his fingers as Kenma rolls his hips once, more of a tease than anything else, for both of them, but Kuroo can feel him hard and hot against his abdomen, and Kuroo feels his spine turn to water (liquid mercury) and he needs, more than anything else in this moment, to make Kenma fall spectacularly apart (it’s a million times more tempting than waffles could ever be after all).

Kenma’s not satisfied with the placement of his hands and lets him know it by abruptly moving them, pinning them above his head instead, exerting a force that only Kuroo knows he possesses, and _fuck_ if that doesn’t make something deep inside of him twist and roar and _want_. 

Sometimes, Kenma likes to have the control just as badly as he wants to have it taken away from him, and sometimes Kuroo likes to let his kitten play like this. It feels good, being pinned under Kenma’s weight. It feels good to allow Kenma to have the dominance that Kuroo can so easily take away. He’s taller and he’s stronger than Kenma. He can overpower him easily (Kenma likes that, too), but he also enjoys letting Kenma hold him down and do whatever he damn well pleases, and at the moment Kenma seems to have the desire to mark a trail of hot kisses down Kuroo’s throat, every now and then sinking his teeth into yielding flesh, only to soothe the bites with his tongue seconds later.

Fingers leave his wrists (but Kuroo knows better than to move) because Kenma’s traveling further down, tongue lapping along his clavicles, following the line of his sternum and then going astray. Lips and teeth and tongue tease and one nipple and then the other, and the heat pooling below Kuroo’s waist becomes a solar flare. Kenma’s hands are on him, too, thumbs brushing over his hipbones as he moves lower still, positioning himself between Kuroo’s legs (and Kuroo makes room for him without question). 

He hisses when Kenma bites his inner thigh, a hint of pain tangled amongst the overwhelming pleasure, and Kenma makes a noise low in his throat, sucking on the flesh caught between his teeth, quite purposefully leaving a mark (Kenma is a creature of habit and likes to mark that which is his; so does Kuroo), which Kuroo loves. 

Kenma does the same thing to his other inner thigh too, more than likely partly because he no doubt enjoys the sounds Kuroo makes when he does it, and partly because he likes evenness (Kuroo suspects he might be very slightly OCD in some respects). 

And then Kuroo’s moaning and arching beneath Kenma; he can’t help but move his hands now, one tangling in Kenma’s hair and then other clutching at his pillow for some sort of purchase. Kenma’s tongue trails wetly up the length of Kuroo’s erection and then his mouth closes over him, hot and slick, and it takes every ounce of self-control Kuroo possesses to _not_ work his hips against that mouth, to not grab him and hold him in place and fuck his throat. But Kenma’s got his hands on his hips, still, telling him in no uncertain terms that he expects him to be still, to _not_ do what his body so badly wants. In this way, Kenma can so easily sway him, control him, take him (and Kuroo is more than happy to be had, in whatever way Kenma desires).

Kenma takes him in, slow and deep, and by the time he works up a rhythm, Kuroo’s breaths are coming in harsh little pants and his thighs and his hips are aching to _move_ but he continues to keep them perfectly still, letting Kenma do all the moving. Kenma’s lashes flutter open and he gazes up at Kuroo through them, and that look alone combined with all the heat and motion almost does him in. He tugs at Kenma’s hair sharply and is briefly, genuinely apologetic for the little groan of protest and pain that Kenma gives him for the trouble. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his grip slackening before releasing altogether, fingers carding gently through the hair he’d just pulled. “I was about to come.”

Kenma raises one eyebrow. “That’s the point, you know.” He half-smiles, wriggles a little between Kuroo’s thighs. Kuroo can still feel his breath against him and it’s an aching, awful tease. “Then I would taste like _you_.”

Kuroo closes his eyes and grits his teeth, teetering on the verge of happily giving up the remnants of his perhaps-ridiculous restraint, but then he thinks better of it, reminds himself of what he’d wanted to do when he’d seen Kenma standing in his doorway a few moments earlier, fresh from the shower. 

“Not yet,” he replies, and then he’s tugging Kenma back up the length of his body, helping him resettle himself where he’d been earlier, but also making him lean down so that their chests are almost flush. Kenma lets him do it, passes the control right back to him, and watches him with curious (and heated) eyes as Kuroo reaches for what rests beneath Kenma’s pillow.

(It had been Kenma’s idea to put the lubricant there; he’d pointed out that it would be easier to reach there than in the drawer of the nightstand, and of course he’d been right—no wonder why he’s the brain of their team.)

He has to fumble with the tube for a minute; his hands are trembling slightly, as if he’s suddenly going through withdrawals from no longer touching Kenma (even though it’s been all of two seconds), and then he’s spreading the slick substance onto his fingers, rubbing it between them and his thumb to warm it so that it won’t be uncomfortably cool against overly-heated skin. 

Kuroo slides his index finger along the cleft of Kenma’s ass, pauses at the small sound Kenma makes low in his throat. “Are you sore?” he asks, concerned, not wanting to continue with _this_ if it won’t be good for Kenma, his mind already drifting to other possibilities (more along the lines of Kenma taking control again) which are equally as tantalizing, when Kenma presses back against his finger, making it clear exactly what he wants right now.

And if the motion hadn’t already done it, the verbal confirmation would’ve: “Never too sore for this, Tetsurou.”

It’s all Kuroo needs, but he’s still careful when he pushes his index finger inside of Kenma, sliding it back and forth, letting him adjust before adding a second finger, working  
them in and out a few times before curling them, hitting that spot that makes Kenma gasp and mewl and squirm against him, cock pulsing against Kuroo’s belly and Kuroo does it again just to hear Kenma moan against his skin. He’s not currently doing his wrist or forearm any great favors, but the way Kenma reacts to him more than makes up for it. 

He adds a third finger eventually, and that’s when Kenma starts to really _move_ against him, against his fingers, against his body, and then Kuroo can’t ignore his own screaming desire any longer. He’s tender with the withdrawal of his fingers, but not so gentle when he positions Kenma where he wants him, on his hands and knees, but Kenma  
doesn’t seem to be bothered by the roughness at all. He stays right where Kuroo wants him, and Kuroo slicks himself up with the lube before pressing forward, one hand on Kenma’s hip, the other guiding his cock where both of them want it to be.

He nudges at Kenma’s entrance teasingly, shallowly, and it’s cruel to both of them, but he can’t seem to help himself.

“Please,” Kenma wails, and that’s all it takes. Kuroo pushes into him and both of them groan and shudder, both of them going perfectly, momentarily still when Kuroo’s fully seated inside of him, but that doesn’t last long. Kuroo has to move, _has_ to, and so he does. 

(Kenma is a creature of habit. He’s remained incredibly soft-spoken after all these years – repetition will do that to you – and others have at times commented on how they’ve had to strain to hear his words. Kuroo’s never had to do that; Kuroo’s always heard him, even in his silence.

Kenma is quiet when he talks.

Kenma is not quiet when they fuck.)

Kuroo tries to ease into a rhythm. He really does _try_ , but the sounds Kenma makes cause him to move quicker and rougher than he’d initially intended, and instead of protesting Kenma only shoves back against him and moans louder, and Kuroo’s body finds the rhythm _it_ wants—something hard and fast and frantic and merciless, and Kenma surrenders to it and _fuck_ , Kuroo can’t think, doesn’t want to.

He focuses on the way Kenma’s upper body collapses onto the mattress, face turned to one side, eyes squeezed tightly shut as his fingers claw at the sheets; Kuroo’s shirt has ridden up and is bunched around his shoulders, spine arched, and he’s taking what Kuroo’s giving him with this blissed-out look on his face and Kuroo’s sure he appears in a very similar state. With Kenma, like this, it’s almost unendurable, every single time, almost always too much.

The fingers of his right hand follow the curve of Kenma’s spine, dipping into the hollow at the base where sweat has gathered. The fingers of his left hand are digging (possibly painfully) into the flesh over Kenma’s hipbone; Kuroo thinks it might bruise, knows Kenma won’t mind if it does. Kenma’s crying out and just _letting_ Kuroo drive forward and into him, over and over again, and he’s starting to clench a little around Kuroo’s cock. Kuroo knows how he can make it even better for both of them.

He reaches around, grasping Kenma’s length, pumping him in time to the motions of his hips, fingers finding and pressing against that sensitive spot just below the head again and again while he squeezes and he strokes, and from here on out it doesn’t take long at all.

They’re needy and they’re wild and they’re desperate, as if they weren’t just in this position the night before, as if they won’t get the chance to do this again. It’s over in a handful of heated, straining moments: Kenma’s releasing this choked-off _sob_ and shivering all over as his release spills onto Kuroo’s fingers and the bedsheets. He’s clenching around Kuroo rhythmically, deliciously, and it’s achingly good and it’s too much and it’s just enough and Kuroo’s coming too, shuddering through his orgasm and letting each wave of it crash over him as he sags against Kenma for a moment, his vision going all delightfully fuzzy at the edges. 

“Mmmm,” Kenma manages after a few moments of nothing but their heavy breathing and the world tilting on its axis.

Kuroo makes a sound of agreement before carefully drawing back, making more of a mess out of both of them and his sheets in the process. He genuinely doesn’t mind, although both of them most assuredly need a shower now and he’ll have to wash the sheets as well (not that he hadn’t already decided to do that this morning, after last night).

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the middle of Kenma’s back. “Sorry for making such a mess of you,” he apologizes, even though both of them know that it’s _such_ a lie.

Kenma turns over so that they’re facing each other, and promptly calls him out on his bullshit before leaning in to kiss him: “No you aren’t.”

Kuroo can’t help but smile into the kiss. 

(Kenma is a creature of habit and always likes to have the last word.

So does Kuroo.)

“No, I’m not,” he agrees.

And, of course, he _isn’t_. 

Not in the slightest.

~END~


End file.
